So He Plays
by writersmoon
Summary: Sherlock knows that any violinist could sooth John back to sleep, but he still plays. But what happens when he isn't the one playing? Probably very fluffy!


**I don't own Sherlock!**

** I'm guessing that there have been tons of fics about Sherlock playing to get John back to sleep, but I couldn't resist! Probably very fluffy.**

** Enjoy!**

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John was used to his nightmares. He had grown accustomed to him, he had had them since he was a child. He hadn't had them as often when he was in college, thankfully most of his roommates ignored them when they did occur. They had, of course, returned after his experience in the army. He had learned to cope with them on his own, in a way. He had checked into various ways to counter them, from counting sheep, pacing, writing them down, anything to try to return to an uneasy sleep.

Sherlock was not used to John's nightmares. He often heard John's frantic yells or sudden movements. The first time he had overheard on, he was at a loss. He crept up the stairs to peer in at the army doctor, only to race back down the steps.

He had taken a while to decide what to do about John's nightmares. He found that he couldn't ignore them; they dragged him out of his mind palace or distracted him from his thoughts or experiments. He blamed his curiosity about the doctor for that. So on occasion he would creep up the stairs to sit outside the doctor's door to listen to the doctor inside.

Sherlock found that each time he listened he had to fight the urge to pull open the door and go inside, to tell the doctor it was okay, much like his mother had done for him on multiple occasions. He never did, deciding that it would only cause trouble. So he started exploring other ways.

Making tea for him never worked. Each time Sherlock did it had turned cold by the time the doctor shuffled downstairs. He would move past the cold cup assuming that it was just another cup Sherlock had forgotten to drink. So Sherlock decided he would do what his mother had done for him, that he would play.

He played anything, from Bach, Mozart to anything that would come into his mind. He played until he heard the sound of bed springs signaling that John was heading back to bed. He always finished the piece, even if it was a good half hour after. He could then return to his business.

John soon became accustomed to being soothed back to sleep by Sherlock's violin. So far it was the only way he found he could return to solid sleep, not the uneasy ones he often new. Sherlock fell into the routine of playing for John. He even found himself shifting to the habit of sleeping during the day when he was gone, so he could stay up listening for the other man's nightmares.

Sherlock never saw it as a hassle, in fact he loved it. He always saw John looking after him, buying the milk and such, and how he helped others. From offering advice to bandaging wounds. Sherlock saw his playing as a way he could help the doctor in a way no one else could. Others could buy John the milk, or put medicine on a wound. Sherlock did know that others could play the violin to sooth John back to sleep, but he played on.

One night John woke from quite a terrible dream. He had snapped awake, looking about his room franticly. He was forced to get out of bed, pacing back and forth across his room before he returned to his bed. He laid down, closing his eyes while breathing in deeply, listening to the music. But something was wrong, the music wasn't right.

Finally he sat up, his feet swinging down to the cold floor. He pulled out his gun slipping it into the pocket of his robe, just in case. He cautiously moved down the stairs, through the kitchen to peek into the living room. His hand closed around his gun when he didn't find Sherlock's silhouette standing in the window.

John moved into the living room, finding the music oozing from the hardly used stereo. He moved over eyeing the woman smiling cheerfully from the cover of the CD.

He realized why the music sounded wrong. It wasn't Sherlock. Despite the popular belief, Sherlock was not a computer, he was in fact human. John knew that if more people heard him play the violin that more people would believe it. Sherlock always played with such emotion. Weather it was while he thought or when he was playing for company, he always filled it with feeling. It was that ability that made John believe that Sherlock could make any piece of music beautiful. It was obvious that he made the CD sound like a computer.

John sighed as he turned towards the kitchen. He supposed a cup of tea would have to attempt to fill in Sherlock's shoes. He stopped when he saw a note lying on the coffee table. He paused picking it up.

"John, I hope that your nightmares don't visit while I am out. If they do another violinist will have to play to you, there is a small selection of violinists in the drawer under the stereo if the one I pick is not to your liking. Sleep well, Sherlock."

John smiled, it was moments like these that he wished other people could see. At the same time, he enjoyed having them to himself. He moved over to the stereo opening the drawer. He picked up the CD's. He placed one in, only to remove it moments later. He had soon worked his way through the stack, finding that none of them were good enough to replace Sherlock. With a sigh he pulled open the drawer, causing a disk to slip out on to the floor.

Curiously he bent over to pick it up. It was a burned disk with two small inscriptions, 'bug test 4 with violin and voice' and 'send this one to mummy if you must'. John placed it in the stereo, knowing that it could have been reburned into something else.

He smiled when Sherlock's playing poured out of the speakers. It wasn't as good as Sherlock's playing in person, but it was the next best thing. He moved over to the couch and settled in to listen. The next thing he knew he had drifted off.

Sherlock returned home early the next morning to see John curled up on the couch. After removing his coat he carefully crossed the room, covering the doctor with a blanket.

He smiled at the still sleeping doctor before moving over to the stereo that had been stopped for a while. He opened the drawer curious as to which violinist soothed John back to sleep. He was confused to find all of the disks in their cases, all of them having been played.

He reached out, opening the stereo only to have a long forgotten disk look back at him. He glanced over at the doctor, proud to be the only violinist that could sooth him back to sleep.

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**Just a little ficlet! I came up with it while working on my other story, and had to get it down! **

** Anyway I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are always welcomed. **


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